


I Could Be Lonely With You (maybe that makes me a fool)

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mail Order Bride Derek, Mentioned Argents, Sheriff Stiles, dead Hale cousins, dead Stilinski parents, dead papa hale, peter is peter, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Stiles is the sheriff of a small western town that does not tolerate supernatural shenanigans. Unfortunately for him, the supernaturals, especially the Hales,especially Derek Hale, have other ideas for him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	I Could Be Lonely With You (maybe that makes me a fool)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ssleif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssleif/gifts).



> Title comes from Lovelytheband's _Broken_
> 
> Happy holidays, Do-what-the-knight-tells-you
> 
> Character death does not refer to main characters.

~ * ~

Someone was playing piano. Badly.

Stiles sighed, buttoning his shirt. He’d have to talk to Erica about the people she let in her establishment. Too many drunkards thought they were Philharmonic-worthy and then someone else would yell at them, and then there would be a brawl, and as Sheriff of this stinking town, Stiles would have to break it up.

Great. Just what he wanted on a Thursday morning.

Well. No sense putting it off. The longer he took to get his butt downstairs, the more guns would be drawn by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He grabbed his hat and gun on his way out, making sure they were both firmly in place and that his silver star was highly visible.

 _Perfect timing_ , he thought as he reached the base of the sweeping staircase that Erica claimed was the envy of the other three saloons in Beacon Territory but was probably only average, and he heard violence erupt.

“What’s going on?” he demanded as he stepped into the fray. Already, there were two men at each other’s throats, guns poking into the opposite’s belly like poorly shaped dicks. The rest of the saloon was waiting for something, hands hovering over their holsters. Stiles pushed the men apart.

“I said,” he drawled, hooking a thumb in his belt, “what’s going on?”

“He was banging a racket out,” complained one of the men. Stiles recognized him as the never-up-to-any-good nephew of the preacher, sent out West to get an education in manners by the preacher’s sister, Jackson Whittemore. The other man, Stiles didn’t recognize with his brown hair and bright blue eyes. He also had a down-right dirty smirk aimed at the preacher’s nephew.

“And you thought that was good enough reason to stick your piece in his gut?” Stiles asked.

Shamefaced, Jackson shook his head. “It’s just, it’s so early. Ain’t he got sense enough not to play that bullshit?”

“Sonny, you wouldn’t know music if it came up to you and kissed you,” the stranger said in a smooth, smarmy voice. Stiles pegged him as a dude, a city slicker come out West for the adventure and danger touted as the general fare of the western side of the country. Well, if trouble was what he wanted to stir, Trouble was where he’d go.

Stiles shoved a hand into Jackson’s chest to stop him from following the stranger’s words with his fists or worse, his gun. Erica had just had the floorboards cleaned from the last incident and Stiles had no desire to have another murder in his town.

“Listen here, partner,” Stiles emphasized his drawl, “we don’t take kindly to folks just waltzing in here like they own the town and damaging our eardrums in that manner.”

“Oh, don’t I own this town?” The stranger grinned. Stiles did not like the look of that smile, no sir. “Pray tell, Sheriff,” the stranger said like an insult, “who does own this fine town?”

“Well, I reckon that would be the Hale family,” Stiles said. “The largest railroading family this side of Colorado.”

“The Hales, right,” the stranger said. “Well, you’re in luck, Sheriff.” He stepped back from them and bowed with a little flourish. “Peter Hale at your service.”

Eloquently, Stiles said, “Fuck.”

“Peter!” someone else yelled. All eyes snapped onto the staircase where a young man, a stranger like Peter Hale, stood. He was glowering at Hale, nostrils flared, eyes looking distinctly blue.

“Oh no,” Stiles said, drawing his weapon. He pointed it at Hale’s chest. “We do not have any supernaturals in this town.”

“Why not, Sheriff?” Hale rolled his head, cracking his neck pointedly before opening his mouth to reveal a set of canines the likes of which Stiles hadn’t seen in years. He shot Hale.

“What, no wolfsbane?” the stranger from the stairs asked, rather blandly considering his friend had just been shot.

Hale writhed a bit on the ground before standing up. Immediately, every gun in the place was trained on him. It was credit to their curiosity that they all held their fire.

“Really?” Hale dusted off his shirt and plucked at the material where it was sticky with his blood. “Come on. I liked this shirt.”

“You have others. Go back to the room.”

“You’re not allowed to boss me around,” Hale complained.

“According to Mom’s orders?” the other man said. “Yes, I am.”

When Hale didn’t move, he pointed up the stairs. “Go. Go!”

As soon as Hale disappeared up the stairs, the stranger stepped forward, hand extended. “Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale.”

“And werewolf,” Stiles said, not shaking the proffered hand.

“And werewolf,” Derek repeated. “Look, my mom thinks that there’s been a lot of trouble this way.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “We have a whole town called Trouble. It’s about forty or fifty miles south of here.”

“Yeah. My sisters were sent there. That’s where the prison is, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles studied D. Hale, taking in his well-kept clothes, the silver chain attached to a pocket watch, chain threaded through the second button-hole from the bottom of his vest. Very dapper. Definitely better looking than his smarmy relative.

Stiles tamped down hard on that train of thought. He did not need to have a fascination with what amounted to the enemy. The Hales owned all the land right now and they had built the railroads which in turn had created the towns.

Derek and Peter out here along with Derek’s sisters could only mean one thing: the Hales felt like their control was slipping.

“You do know why we’re here, don’t you?” Derek smiled, amused about something. Supernaturals, man. Stiles had successfully kept them out of the town after he’d routed a wendigo nest about five years ago. All Stiles knew about werewolves was they had different colored eyes. They had their human ones, yes, but they also had their true eyes. And Derek’s were blue.

Stiles had seen werewolves with yellow and red eyes. He’d never seen blue though.

“What does it mean that your eyes are blue?”

“It’s a distinct trait of Hale werewolves,” Derek explained. “All of us have blue eyes except my mom who has the red of alpha. It just means that we can transform into full wolves if we choose to.”

“Oh.” Stiles thought back to a black wolf he’d seen circling the town about a month ago. He had stationed patrols and set non-killing traps. The wolf had stopped coming around a few days after that. “Was that you?”

“Me?” Derek asked, but he refused to make eye contact, which made Stiles certain it was.

“You were a wolf here. You scoped out this town. Why?”

“My mother wanted us to see what each town was like without alerting the residents to our presence. I mean, you met my uncle. He wasn’t playing that piano long before someone wanted to kill him. He kind of has that effect on a lot of people. You shot him,” he reminded Stiles.

“Yeah.” Stiles touched his gun. “Regrettably.”

“About the wolfsbane or about shooting him?”

“Both? Yeah. Let’s go with both. Anyway. Why were you sent to observe us?”

“There’s a rival werewolf pack in the area. There’s going to be a challenge for the territory, and we don’t want the people living here to be caught in the middle if it turns into a battle.”

“How,” Stiles raked his eyes up and down Derek’s form again, making it apparent that he was finding him lacking in some indefinable way, “noble. And what’s to stop that other pack from attacking us?”

Surprisingly, Derek went red. “Um,” he coughed. “We, well, as werewolves who can fully shift, we, um, we don’t need outhouses. So, what my sisters, my uncle, and I have been doing is marking our territory.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You’ve been pissing all over my town?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Not all over it.” Derek’s face turned even redder. “Just around it.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I would get you being insulted if I had actually peed on your bed or something. Instead, I peed about a mile from town. Now the other pack knows that this town is protected by a Hale.”

“Great,” Stiles muttered. Louder, he said, “So, you’re here. What do you need from me? As you can see, I’m the sheriff of this town.”

“Well, my mother wanted me to meet with you to see if you’d had any incidents lately.”

“And the purpose of bringing your uncle with you?”

Derek shrugged. “While werewolves are difficult to kill, it is not impossible. Therefore, we usually travel in pairs of two or more if we have to travel at all.”

“So, now that you’ve met with me, what else do you need?”

“Well…” Derek scratched at the back of his head. “Actually, it would be nice to show the other pack that we have the support of the humans in this area.”

“Well, unless your uncle happens to be in charge of human-werewolf relations.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah. He wasn’t my first choice either. My mom was busy though, so she sent Peter with me.”

“Shame. You could have almost convinced us non-supernaturals to join you.” Stiles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need coffee. It’s too early for this shit.”

He stalked away from Derek, leaving him standing in the middle of the saloon

~ * ~

Two mugs of Erica’s finest swill later and Stiles felt more like himself. He found the Hales sitting on the balcony of their room. Derek was winding his watch while Peter stretched out, a hat pulled over his face. Neither of them reacted to Stiles shoving the window up enough for him to crawl clumsily through. Werewolves must be as flexible as cats to fit through such small entrances. Stiles made a note to himself to never leave his window open, lest he wake up to Peter Hale standing over him.

Less concerning would be waking up to Derek, despite the fact that he’d pissed all over Stiles’ goddamn town.

“Ah, what’s that?” Peter asked from beneath his hat. He sniffed loudly. “Oh, that’s right. A conquest for your bed, dear nephew.”

Derek turned red faster than Stiles could draw his foot back and slam it into Peter’s knee.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you using that?” he intoned as he ground his heel into the busted tendons, smirking at the howl Peter let out.

Derek laughed. “How’d you do that?” he asked when Stiles finally let Peter drag his wounded body and pride into the room.

“A little bit of aconite oil and a sturdy heel.” Stiles sat down in Peter’s spot. “So, about this meeting with the other pack, I’m in. As long as you leave the rest of my town out of it. I swore an oath to protect this town and I mean it.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” Derek told him. “It’s an admirable trait.”

“For what? A sheriff?” Stiles shook his head. “No, that’s just part of the job. I mean, who can you trust if you can’t trust the people hired to protect you?”

Derek eyed him oddly. “I’ve know quite a few corrupt lawmen. My mother has disposed of most of them.”

“And she can’t do the same to a pack of werewolves?”

“Not when they have the support of the largest hunting family in the whole country behind them.”

“Oh, shit, the Argents?” Stiles knew of them: they were the largest suppliers of firepower to any militia group that had enough gold—except for werewolves. They had a strict policy of shooting werewolves first and then interrogating them while they lay dying from the poisoned bullets. “They’ve aligned with a werewolf pack? I thought they never did that?”

Derek’s face shuttered, obviously trying to hide something. “Apparently,” he said bitterly, “they will if it means eradicating my family. They already attacked us earlier. My father was killed.”

“So why’d you pick Beacon Hills out of all the townships in Beacon Territory to represent the human side of the Hales?”

Derek sighed, patting at his vest until he found what he was looking for. Which was apparently a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat when he realized what it probably was.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

Derek shrugged. “My older sister passed it on. She thought you might—”

“It wasn’t me,” Stiles said. “I mean, my friend, Erica Reyes—she owns this saloon—she was the one who wrote that. I wasn’t looking for anyone.”

“Oh,” Derek said, refolding the paper with the same care. Stiles sighed, not in relief, but from the way Derek slumped, he must have thought so.

“That’s not how I meant it,” he tried to explain. “Erica. She. Well, she thought I was lonely, just because I’m nearly 29 and haven’t been married yet. So, she drafted an advert and sent it back east. ‘Handsome sheriff seeking love.’ I hoped no one would respond, not because I’m not ready to find someone to settle down with, but because I thought the choice had been taken from me.”

“Have you had anyone respond?”

“If they have, Erica has kept them away from me. We have a few new faces every now and again, but most folks just pass through, heading for the gold mines along the rivers.”

“And what if I’m here as a prospective love for you?”

“No offense, but I find that hard to believe. You don’t know me at all. And all I know about you is that you’re a werewolf who can apparently turn into a full wolf and likes to piss around his territory.”

“Well, I do know that you enjoy your job as sheriff, and even though your job brings you into violence, you don’t like to resort to it yourself. Although, you did kind of like shooting my uncle.”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yes, he is. Anyway. I know you care about this town. But, I also know that you are lonely. I can smell it on you. And if your nose was a good as mine, you’d smell it on me too.”

“So, what, you want us to be lonely together?”

Derek gently knocked his shoulder against Stiles’. “I just want to know you better.” Quieter, eyes downcast to his lap where his hands were twisted together, Derek mumbled, “I liked how your advert made you sound.”

“Can I read it?” Stiles asked. “I never saw what Erica sent out because she only told me long after the fact.”

Derek obligingly dug out the paper and passed it over. Stiles unfolded it, using the same careful movement as Derek earlier. He was greeted with a detailed likeness of himself. Erica must have had her husband draw it. Boyd was a secret artist with a few high profile sales on the east coast.

Beneath that was an almost poetic description of Stiles, and to her credit, Erica had described him perfectly, using words like “stubborn” and “bullheadedness” and also “sweet” and “charming when I’m not talking your ear off.” Apparently, he could cook “decent enough not to kill my guest” and he was “shy when it came to the bedroom.”

“Goddamn it, Erica, just because I was the only man who never bowed to your feminine wiles, doesn’t make me ‘shy in the bedroom.’”

Derek coughed suddenly, and Stiles turned to him. “Well,” Derek finally said when he had his breathing under control, “that makes one of us.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Derek’s face was so red that Stiles knew if he touched him, he’d feel the heat burning through his skin. “I’m not,” here he coughed again, looking pained, “I haven’t. I mean, I’m not.”

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s, curling his fingers loosely enough that Derek could pull back if he wanted to. “It’s okay,” he said, and meant it. He knew what Derek was trying to say, and he didn’t care. “I wouldn’t just want you because of that,” he promised.

“Is this sap-fest over yet?” Peter called from inside the room. “We need to get to our meeting with Deucalion and his usurping hunters before they make a move we can’t stop.”

“One more thing,” Stiles called back. Before he could rethink it, he lunged forward and smashed his and Derek’s mouths together.

There was teeth and blood, and Derek’s nose got in the way of Stiles’ eye. It was altogether uncomfortable and a little bit the best thing Stiles had ever done. When he pulled back, Derek’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils expanded, irises iridescent with greens, blues, and browns that held Stiles’ attention.

“Let’s go, boys.” Peter broke the moment by grabbing Derek by the back of his neck and dragging him into the room. “We’ll meet you out front in five minutes.” And then the Hales were gone.

Stiles took a moment to compose himself, and wipe away the blood from his split lip, before he hauled himself back through the window and headed to his room.

~ * ~

Derek was holding the reins to a painted horse while Peter was already in the saddle of a mustang. Somehow, Stiles hadn’t expected Derek’s reserved or practical taste in horses. He would have expected a Hale to have expensive tastes. Peter was very much living up to that assumption, prancing about on his fancy horse.

“Should I get my horse?” Stiles asked, looking between the Hales. Derek had opted to don the brimmed hat from earlier while Peter was bareheaded.

Sunburn was not friendly, but if werewolves really did heal fast, as Peter had from the gunshot, and the destruction of his knee, then he’d be fine and Stiles refused to waste any more of his time on him.

“No need,” Boyd said, leading Stiles’ horse Roscoe from the barn. “I took the liberty of getting him ready.”

Roscoe whinnied, bumping his head into Stiles’ shoulder. Well, at least one of them was looking forward to the ride to Trouble.

“Thank you, Boyd.” Stiles swung himself up onto the American Saddlebred’s back. Roscoe had been a gift from Stiles’ mother, his parents in turn being a gift from her father, and Stiles took care of the horse though his mother was long gone.

Derek clicked his tongue and his horse moved up next to Stiles and Roscoe. “I know we said that we needed to show that we have the support of the humans in this area, but you don’t have to come if you think there will be too much danger.”

“I’m already here,” Stiles said. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. Besides, when was the last time you went to Trouble? Do you even know the way?”

“I do,” Derek confirmed. “But, it has been a while.” He smiled shyly at Stiles. “It sure would be nice to have a guide, Sheriff.”

“How charming,” Peter remarked, tone flat and bland but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “My nephew, the mail-order bride and his groom, the Sheriff of a dusty, backwater town. I’ll be certain to update your mother of the goings on, Derek. I’m sure she’ll be happy that her son is finally ready to marry.”

“Just because Derek doesn’t roll over for you doesn’t mean you can threaten him. Did you forget that you’re still in my town, backwater and all? I’ll shoot you again.”

Derek made a show of inhaling deeply. “And he’s got the wolfsbane bullets this time.”

Peter kept his mouth shut the rest of the ride that day.

~ * ~

They stopped to make camp when they were still about twenty miles from Trouble.

Derek set about gathering dry kindling and sticks while Peter laid out his bedroll and thumped down onto it, relaxing while Stiles took the horses down to a nearby creek for a drink.

When he returned, Derek had a fire going, a small pot suspended over it.

“Sorry, I only brought beans,” he apologized when he realized that Stiles was watching him. “Usually, when we travel, we just catch game and make do.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to rustle up a rabbit or two,” Stiles said. He cut a quick glance to where Peter was watching them. “Or someone else could pull his weight around here,” he said loudly in his direction. Peter raised a hand, a single finger lifted.

“Yeah, Peter’s never been very good at showing his prowess around humans. He prefers to lull them into a false sense of security and then spring out as a werewolf.”

“Bad news for your uncle then,” Stiles said. “I already know he’s a werewolf and I’m not impressed. Go hunt for us, Peter.”

Surprisingly, Peter stood up. “You’re just trying to get me out of camp so you can practice kissing my nephew,” he accused, but it sounded good-natured. Stiles shrugged, not denying it. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Peter told Derek and then strode off into the gathering dusk.

“Did you really want to kiss me again?” Derek asked, not looking up from his beans. In answer, Stiles leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder while he stared into the fire.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “On one hand, I’d love to. But on the other, I think it’d be better to wait until after the meeting with the usurping werewolves. I really just want to get to know you better. I don’t even know how old you are or what your favorite food is.”

“I’ll be thirty come winter and I really like blackberries off the bush.”

“What a coincidence, I love blackberry pie.” Stiles smiled. “Do you just have the two sisters?”

Derek nodded sharply. “I had cousins though. They were killed by hunters years ago. The Argents have been spreading the rumor that blue eyes on a werewolf means that they’ve killed someone.”

“You said it was because you can change into a full wolf.” Stiles stepped back so that Derek could turn to face him. “How do the Argents not know that?”

“It’s not something we go around telling people. Or at least, we didn’t used to. Now we do it to keep other humans from trying to kill us because they think we’re a danger to them.”

“You’re not though, are you?” Stiles didn’t wait for Derek’s answer before he leaned in to slot their mouths together.

It went much better this time with no blood or poked eyes.

Derek kissed like he was unsteady on his feet, like Stiles had knocked him a good one. Honestly, Stiles felt the same way.

They moved away from the fire and to the bedrolls that hadn’t been unrolled and dropped onto them, still locked at the mouth.

Derek patted at Stiles’ back, a small whimper breaking free when Stiles pulled back to gasp a breath in.

“Well, you certainly got far.” Peter interrupted them by dropping a couple of rabbits on them. Stiles and Derek pulled apart, and Derek shot his uncle a hate-filled look before taking the rabbits to the fire and skinning them quickly using his claws. He stuck them on a spit made out of a whittled piece of firewood and began cooking them.

“Why’d you stop?” Peter grinned at Stiles. “It wasn’t on my behalf, was it?” He headed off to the creek to wash his hands.

“I’m sorry for my uncle. He likes to be unnecessary.”

“Hey, I can put up with him,” Stiles said. “It’s you I’m trying to kiss, not him.”

To prove his point, he kissed Derek again. Just a quick peck on the lips. After all, Derek was busy right now and did not need the distraction.

Instead, Stiles unrolled his and Derek’s bedrolls and checked on the horses.

Then, he settled onto the ground and watched as the rabbits sizzled and popped as Derek turned them.

~ * ~

The rest of the twenty miles passed easily, and when they arrived in Trouble, identical to Beacon Hills aside from the giant prison built sometime in the past five years with timbers brought down from Oregon.

In front of the gate, the warden stood, thumbs hooked in his vest pockets.

The Hales and Stiles dismounted. The warden nodded at them.

“Sheriff Stilinski, how nice to see you.” He spit a wad of juice from the corner of his mouth. Stiles bit back his grimace at the display. It wasn’t his place to tell the warden that it was disgusting and shameful to do that in proper company.

“Warden Enos, it looks like you were expecting me.”

“Indeed I was.” Enos spit again. “Thanks to these lovely ladies.” He jerked his thumb out of his pocket to jab it in the direction of where two women, both dark haired like Derek, were being led by another man Stiles did not recognize. From the way Derek and Peter both bristled, he would guess this was the challenging alpha.

The taller of the two women was dressed in an outfit similar to Derek’s, with a dark vest over a white shirt and a wide-brimmed hat. The shorter had chaps over her pants and a brown vest and no hat. The strange alpha was dressed in a three piece suit, and as dapper as Derek looked in his vest, he had nothing on this newcomer. Well, he may have been well-dressed, but Stiles wasn’t falling for it.

“Derek,” the taller woman called, “he’s part of Deucalion’s pack.”

Enos’ eyes turned red and he swiped his claws at Derek. Peter retaliated quickly, shoving Enos back.

“Now, now, boys, let’s not be hasty.” Deucalion pointed a gun at the women. The taller woman snapped her head side to side, teeth bared, eyes red.

Next to her, the shorter woman’s eyes were blue, like Derek’s.

“Now, there’s no reason to resort to violence,” Stiles said. He kept his gun pointed at Deucalion. “What’s this I hear about you trying to take Hale land?”

“I’m only trying to get back what is mine.”

“And how is this land yours?”

“Not the land,” Deucalion said. “Not even the gold or the railroad on top of it. I want the people.”

“And how are the people yours?”

Deucalion smiled, cold, emotionless. “Can you not feel the way your body is mine? The way your blood sings to be turned into your true potential?”

“If you mean let myself be turned by you, then no. I don’t want anything to do with that. In fact, if you’re going to be biting people without their consent, then I’m going to have to put you down like the rabid dog you are pretending to be.”

“Try me.” Deucalion rolled his shoulders and then leapt at Stiles, moving faster than Stiles could keep his weapon trained on him.

He was going to die, Stiles was certain. He shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to watch his flesh be torn asunder.

The pain never came, and Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek standing between him and Deucalion.

Derek gurgled, choking on something, but he stood firm. Deucalion wasn’t coming through him.

“What’s this?” Deucalion asked, voice sinisterly low. Something squelched and Derek whimpered. “Fallen in love with a human?” Deucalion tsked. “Now that’s just not proper.”

“And who are you to decide what’s proper or not?” Peter asked. “Remove your filthy hand from my nephew’s chest.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles peeked around Derek. Deucalion’s hand was deep in Derek’s chest. As Stiles watched, he twisted it, and Derek made that gurgling noise again. He was going to kill him. Stiles put his gun against Deucalion’s head and pulled the trigger.

Derek screamed as his chest tore open when Deucalion’s hand pulled free.

Peter helped Stiles hold Derek up. Together, they got him to the saloon. The two women, Derek’s sisters, easily dispatched Enos and brought up the rear.

Inside was chaos. A tall blond was dispensing drinks by chucking full bottles at people.

“The tyrants are dead,” he chanted, juggling glasses and rags with ease. “Thank fuck for the strangers and the sheriff.” He slid a full glass of beer to Stiles. “What can I do for our saviors?”

“You can start by fetching the doctor of this town,” Stiles ordered. He knocked the beer off the bar so that he and Peter could lay Derek there.

“Deaton!” The bartender yelled. A short man in a bowler hat and vest combo stepped up to the bar. “Help the sheriff.”

“Certainly.” Deaton thumped a bag down on to the bar next to Derek’s head. He pulled out a stethoscope, listening to Derek’s heart. “He’s strong enough that all he needs is some time to heal.”

“I could have told you that,” Peter snapped. “What I want you to tell me is if Deucalion left anything in him. He was killed with a wolfsbane bullet. Could residue have gotten inside my nephew?”

Deaton shook his head. “The shot was instantaneous, correct? Head or heart?” Stiles nodded. “Then he should be fine. If he doesn’t start healing properly inside of half an hour, we’ll try the ashes method. For now, what he needs is rest. Isaac, are the rooms upstairs decent?”

The blond shrugged. “Decent enough,” he replied, tossing a key at Deaton. “Tell him thanks when he’s conscious.”

“Will do. Thanks, Isaac.”

The taller sister shouldered Peter aside and scooped up Derek. “Lead the way, Doc.” She and Deaton disappeared up the sweeping staircase, an exact replica of the staircase in Erica’s saloon.

“I’d better stay down here and make sure the rest of Deucalion’s pack doesn’t ambush us.”

Peter and the shorter sister exchanged glances. “We’d better stay down here then,” Peter said. “We can hear anyone coming, and we can fight them off.”

“Besides,” the sister added, “you’ve already proven you can take care of Derek.”

“What do you mean? He got hurt because of me.”

“Derek will, misguided though it might be at times, defend anyone and everyone. He didn’t get hurt because of you; he got hurt because he stepped into the path of an alpha werewolf intent on killing a human.”

“And you trust me to stop whatever threat makes it past you too?”

“Absolutely,” the sister said. “I’m Cora Hale.” She stuck her hand out. Stiles shook it heartily.

“Sheriff Stilinski—Stiles.”

“Well, Stiles,” Cora said, “take good care of my brother. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Stiles tipped his hat to her and headed up the stairs.

He hoped it didn’t come to that—to have to meet her again as they crossed the river into the afterlife. If a fight did break out, Stiles did not want to have to kill someone else. Deucalion was going to kill Derek, so that was kill or be killed. Stiles could get behind that kind of sanctioned murder.

Less so if he was shooting someone in cold blood.

“Hey,” the other sister said when Stiles entered the room, the door having been left open for him. “So, Derek’s already starting to heal.” Deaton nodded his agreement. “You take the first watch.”

“That’s all well and good,” Stiles said, his hat in hand, “but do you really trust someone Derek just met to watch over him?”

“You just shot an alpha werewolf in the face because he was killing my brother. Of course I’m going to trust you. I’m Laura, by the way.”

Stiles shook her hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Stiles,” Laura said, a mischievous smile cracking her face. “Nice to meet you. Take care of my brother.”

“I will.”

“Good. See you in about two hours. Don’t do anything Peter wouldn’t do.”

“What does your annoying uncle have to do with anything?”

“Well, let’s just say that if you like my brother and you were Peter, the fact that he’s unconscious wouldn’t be a deterrent.”

Stiles looked to the bed where Derek lying still, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with a slow, steady beat. Then he looked back to Laura. “Something is very wrong with your uncle,” he told her.

“Don’t I know it,” she laughed. “Anyway. I’m going to get some grub. Deucalion, before his timely passing, wasn’t a great host. I haven’t had anything more substantial than a mouse in two days.”

“That I believe.”

As soon as Laura left, Stiles settled in at the desk.

“If my services aren’t needed anymore, I’d like to settle my tab.” Deaton hefted his bag, sticking a bowler hat on his bald head.

Stiles dismissed him with a nod. And then he just sat in Derek’s room, trying not to feel like he was doing something wrong when he watched him sleep.

As soon as Laura came to relieve him, he jammed his hat back on his head, headed downstairs, and saddled up.

“I’m going back to Beacon Hills,” he said to Cora when she stopped him. “My town needs me. If it gets out that I helped bring down Deucalion, either my town will be overrun with wannabe alpha werewolves or people seeking revenge or people who’ll want me to solve their werewolf problems.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Cora promised. “My mom won’t let it. Deucalion was an outlier, bolstered by the Argents and their firepower.”

“As long as the Argents exists, then there will be no peace. I can’t stay here any longer. What if my town is under attack right now?”

“It’s not,” Cora said, “but if it makes you feel better, we’ll send Derek there once he’s healed.”

“Sure. You do that.”

Stiles clicked his tongue and Roscoe started walking.

The idea of Derek in his town was…not as displeasing as Stiles might have expected. As long as Peter wasn’t part of the deal. The poor town wouldn’t be able to withstand his personality, much less his piano playing.

Derek on the other hand…

Derek could spend every minute annoying Stiles and he wouldn’t feel the need to shoot him like he had Peter.

Oh god, he was in love, wasn’t he?

Roscoe didn’t answer aside from a whinny. Stiles agreed and upped their pace. They had a long journey ahead of them.

~ * ~

It wasn’t surprising to find Beacon Hills still standing, but Stiles wished that his town could have missed him just a little more since he’d been gone for about half a week.

After putting Roscoe up in his stall, brushing, and feeding him, he walked into the saloon and was greeted by Boyd tossing Jackson out on his ear.

“And stay out,” the gentle giant said, dusting off his hands, standing there unconcernedly while Jackson picked himself up and dusted off before limping off to crawl back into his uncle’s guest room. “Welcome back, Sheriff.”

“Boyd.” Stiles nodded at him. “Wanna explain what’s going on?”

“Jackson was caught cheating at cards. Again,” Boyd said. “Erica told him he was on his last leg and that she wouldn’t protect him anymore.”

“About damn time,” Stiles muttered. “Got any grub left?”

“For you,” Erica called from behind the bar, “always. Just let me get my fine dishes out.”

“Nah, the bar is good enough,” Stiles joked back. “Thanks,” he said genuinely when Erica set a plate of warmed beans and eggs in front of him.

“So, tell me, Sheriff,” Erica pretended to wipe the bar clean, “what was it like traveling with the Hales?”

“It was great aside from the fact that I haven’t been riding enough so I’m saddle-sore. Also, I think I met my husband thanks to you.”

“Your husband?” Erica repeated. “Because of me? How?”

“Do you remember that advert you took out about, what, six months ago?”

“Vaguely.” Erica blushed. “I try not to think about it, honestly.”

“Well, thank you. Apparently, the Hales saw it and now I’m going to marry—”

“Not Peter Hale,” Erica gasped. “Please not that asshole.”

Stiles smiled. “No, not Peter. Derek.”

“Oh thank god.” Erica sagged, looking relieved. Then she perked up again. “Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Because I put out that advert without your approval. I know you were mad at me.”

“You’re one of my best friends,” Stiles told her, “and more than that, you’re my family. You and Boyd. You’re both invited to the wedding. Whenever it is.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Boyd intoned. “Does Derek know you’re getting married?”

“Possibly.” Stiles scratched at his chin. He’d have to shave tomorrow if he wanted to remain presentable. “I mean, I would guess so. His sister seemed to think that Derek and I were compatible.”

“Well, if you are, good for you,” Erica said. “And if you aren’t, please don’t kill me when you remember the advert.”

Stiles laughed, handing her back the empty plate. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’m sorry, but I’m absolutely tuckered. I’m going to grab some sleep. Wake me up if anything happens, or Jackson tries to get back inside.”

Erica and Boyd mock-saluted him and he dragged his tired body up the stairs and to his room.

He didn’t remember toeing off his boots and face planting onto his bed. He also didn’t remember if he dreamed.

~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his window creaked open. He was aware in an instant, pointing his gun at the startled face of Derek Hale.

“Goddamn it, Hale, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I still have the wolfsbane bullets loaded.”

“Oh.” Derek slunk into the room, standing with his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you again.”

He shuffled closer to the bed as if he was afraid that Stiles still had the gun trained on him. He didn’t. Had dropped it when he realized it was Derek who was sneaking into his room.

And then, quicker than Stiles could see, Derek dropped something on the bed and was out the window. By the time Stiles was up and following him, he was already gone.

Shaking his head, Stiles returned to the bed, sitting down and making sure his gun wasn’t cocked. Then he noticed what Derek had all but thrown at him.

It was a package wrapped in thick cloth, cut from Derek’s vest, and tied with a piece of twine. When he undid the string and opened it, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a locket and a shiny rock that reminded Stiles of Derek’s eyes, aventurine and beautiful. Underneath it all was a note written in surprisingly spindly and frankly cute handwriting.

Stiles unfolded it, reading it quickly.

It was a proposal. From Derek.

Stiles looked up to the window. Still empty.

He turned the paper over and grabbed a pencil from the desk. He wrote a single word and then folded the note back into the cloth minus the other items. Then he tied it tightly and threw it out the window. It landed in the dusty street. Derek was still nowhere to be seen.

Stiles sighed and hauled himself back inside. Before he’d even sat down again, he heard a soft voice ask, “Do you really mean it?”

Stiles looked up to see Derek standing just inside the window, the cloth shredded, the note clutched in one hand.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I mean it.” He looped the locket around his neck, and Derek, smiling broadly, closed the clasp for him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for saving me, and for saying yes.”

“Yes, well, thank you for asking.”

This time, when they kissed, there was no Peter to interrupt them, and Stiles quite enjoyed exchanging spit with Derek, because, werewolf or not, almost thirty years old come winter, that boy looked _debauched_ by a thorough kiss.

He knew he’d enjoy being married to Derek. Every minute of it. And when Derek sighed as Stiles pulled back to look at him again, he knew Derek would enjoy it too.

Stiles sent a mental thank you to Erica for her hand in bringing them together.

She deserved it.

And Derek deserved another kiss. Eagerly, Stiles dove in.

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted at [my Tumblr](http://www.1989dreamer.tumblr.com).


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